Dire Dyer
by Lilentorio
Summary: Slight AU. Bella has always been insistent that Phil is 'too young' for Renée. Is this just prejudice, or the leaf of a darker root? Oneshot.


**Title: Dire Dyer**

**Author: Lile**

**Rating: T...will be changed if you guys think it should be.**

**Genres: Angst, romance.**

**Brief summary: There's a reason why Bella's so insistent that Phil is 'too young'.**

**A/N: This is kind of a gamble story...I don't know if it works or not, just experimenting.**

* * *

I first saw him, practicing for a game. He kept his limbs so steady as he played ball, exercising perfect control. It was perfect, beautiful, even, which wasn't a word I usually came up with when describing people. I sat on the bleachers, watching him work out, my stupid eyes fixed on him the whole time. I didn't have much reason for being there- trying to go to a "cool kid" party had landed up with me being lost, in a dizzying heat, so I just stayed here, trying to soak in the shade.

He fascinated me. It wasn't just the obvious fitness- it was something about the calculated efforts he made, never seeming to run out of energy, always boundlessly cheerful as he yelled at his team mates.

Too soon, it's over. He disappears from view, with his friends, and they all laugh with each other. I catch him glancing at me, his carefree gaze meeting my own lonely one, and my heart almost bursts out of my chest. His face is so gentle at this distance, so unassuming. I'm sixteen, and I know he's older than that, college age, but I don't care. I just want to sit here and watch him perform.

There is nothing for me, once he leaves, so I play with the straps of my sandals, and then decide to head home.

When I get there, mom is busy trying to prepare dinner. She laughs when she sees my horrified face, helping me to tidy up the burnt mess, and we end up ordering a take away. It's just another evening, and I'm getting tired of Chinese, but I can't tell her that; she looks so happy.

I keep him a secret, of course, because what do I say? That I was spying on a Little Leaguer? I don't want her to tease me, or more importantly, I don't want to be like her when it comes to love. Falling in and out like a ball through a hoop, only inside it for a thousandth of a moment.

The whole week is boring. I do chores, and homework, and then go back to watch him practice the same time.

He's wearing a bright red shirt, so it's much easier to keep track of him. I see him glance at me a few times, and each time my heart soars. Does he remember me? Does he recognise me? Even the thought of that makes my heart flutter in my chest, light enough to slip up my throat and burst.

It's a repeat the next week, and the next, but then, he does something magical; he talks to me.

I watch him as usual, and after he's done he begins to climb the bleachers. My heart races, and I pretend not to notice, in case he's not doing it for me.

A shadow falls over me. His shadow. My palms feel tingly.

"Hi," a low voice says, and I look up, shielding my eyes from the sun.

"Hi," I say, trying to look more confident than I am. He's good looking- rectangular face, strong jaw, and wide-set, happy hazel eyes. Butterflies tremble in my stomach.

"Are you waiting for someone?" he asks, crouching down beside me.

You. "Um, no. Why?"

"Because you're always alone." He smiles, soft. "It's okay. Are you the little sister of one of my team...?"

I shake my head. "No! Nothing like that. I was just, it's interesting to watch."

He raises an eyebrow. "Really, kid? We mostly goof off. You can't learn anything but bad habits from us." He laughs then, straightening up, leaving.

Kid. He thinks I'm a kid. It's true that I'm not filled out like a bunch of girls in my year, but I'm tall, slender. I don't look childish anymore. "I already have bad habits," I say, and lick my lips. I sit up tall, straight. "I'm sure a few more wont hurt."

"Oh? Do you play?" he asks, pausing. A smile crinkles his face.

I beam back at him. "No. I'm hopeless. No sense of balance, coordination...you name it."

He tilts his head back and laughs. It gives me a warm feeling inside. "Speaking of names, what's yours?"

"I'm Bella," I say, eagerly.

"I'm Phil," he smiles back, holding out his hand. "Mighty pleased to meet you."

When our fingers twine, I hold my breath, trying to memories the grip of his fingers.

* * *

We started to talk after every practice- he never commented on my strange presence, and he was...easy to talk to, much easier than anyone else I'd ever met. At any rate, he was a welcome distraction from my mom, who kept talking about her new boy-toy if I stood still long enough. Everything about him enamoured me- and he started to get more comfortable in my company. At first, he would just sit closer to me, but then every so often he'd play with my hair, or our knees would brush, and my heart would go ballistic, my cheeks coloring in like a cheesy kid's cartoon.

He made me feel normal, unlike all the kids at school who made me feel alienated and strange.

As the weeks went by, and my mom's descriptions grew more graphic, I liked our conversations more and more. He told me about his life; I told him about mine. I would sometimes lose track of what we were talking about because I was staring at his lips. The need to kiss him would paralyze me sometimes, and then be closely followed by fear of rejection. He was twenty seven, eleven years older than me. What if he thought the age gap was important?

But nevertheless, I was building up my courage. I was determined to kiss him, to let him know how I felt. I even entertained the idea of him kissing me back; it was the subject of some of my fantasies...and the beginning of some, too...

He sometimes touched me, too. Not in an inappropriate way, but he'd trace my shoulder with his fingers, or pause in the conversation to press his palm onto my knee.

He smirked now, when he saw me blush, which only made it worse.

That lasted for a few weeks, before he became more distant. It hurt me- and he could see that. Our conversations became stilted, and his touches were longer, but a lot less frequent.

I didn't even blink an eye when mom asked me to meet her boy-toy, the one she'd been having a 'scandalous' time with. For one thing, I kind of hoped that this time, the man she was howling after wouldn't be a weirdo. I worried about her a lot.

The day I was to meet him, mom fussed over me- making sure I was wearing the right clothes, that I was clean, that I switched my clothes to something more neatly ironed, then that my hair was clean...exhausting, and I was pissed off by the end of it. I was on edge from Phil ignoring me. Why would he do that?

Mom and I walked to the restaurant, and the waiter took note of our reserved table, guiding us to it.

And I saw him! Phil was sitting at one of the tables, dressed much better than I usually saw him, without the sweat I was accustomed to.

My heart drops when the waiter stops beside him, pulling out a chair for my mom.

He was her boy toy. Her boyfriend. My mother was dating my...

He looked shocked when he saw me, like he was in a bad dream. He smiled at my mother, though, kissed her on the cheek, and I had to sit down so suddenly the chair whined.

She introduced me to him.

We greeted each other, plastic smiles slapped across our faces.

A few minutes after the main course arrived, he excused himself to go to the bathroom. I had to confront him. I had to! I made my own excuses and followed him, my cheeks burning.

Why had he lied, too, about not knowing me? Was I a stupid game? Had he known who I was the whole time, and just hoped we'd never meet?

I was surprised to see him waiting for me. We were hidden from view.

My footsteps slowed until we were a few steps from each other, and then I was closer, and then closer.

Our eyes met, and his were tired, and mine were confused.

Our lips were locked before I could think.

His hands pushed me inside the ladie's bathroom, up against the sink, and I kissed him back, tears starting to roll down my face. Wild, desperate moves bringing our bodies together, his hips against mine, feeling each other through clothes. He tasted so good; his hand pushing my shirt up, my fingers tracing the panes of his back. It was forbidden, and I wanted it even more for it. Would my mother even care? I asked myself wildly. She never kept men for long. And this one... Phil...

The kiss was everything I wanted, and then I wanted more.

His hands stopped when he felt my heart in his fingertips, the racing beat. His breaths were hot and heavy. "You're a kid," he whispered, self-loathing coloring his voice. His hand slipped away from my shirt, lingering over the length of my thigh, pressing in to the skin. "God...you're _her_ kid."

He wrenched himself away, rubbing his face, casting worried glances at me. I swallowed hard, then fixed my clothing, standing there, feeling worse than I ever had before.

I'm the responsible one. This is...I can't believe...

I took a deep breath and swallowed the heartache threatening to tear me to pieces. His lips. I could taste them, I could still feel that he wanted me.

But I was better than this. I shouldn't...I wouldn't cry.

I left first, and he didn't try to stop me.

* * *

Having him around the house was torture. I thought sometimes I would cry. He was very careful, I noticed, for me to never see him kiss her.

He didn't talk to me much any more, and even when we did, it wasn't the same. We both knew that kiss had brought our relationship to a level that neither of us would be able to leave once we stepped onto it.

So we stayed off it. We played our roles.

I broke down when he proposed to her, and blamed it on happiness for her. She laughed at the tears, drawing me into a huge hug while he looked on, watching me, his mouth in a tight line.

And even after they were married, and I had accepted it, I couldn't...stand watching them. I decided to 'sacrifice' myself by moving to Forks, with my dad.

I needed a new place, a fresh start.

I needed to get away from all the things that could've, would've, weren't.


End file.
